BIRDS OF PASSAGE. . . come i gru van cantando lor lai, Facendo in aer di sè lunga riga. 1858. DANTE. PROMETHEUS, OR THE POET'S FORETHOUGHT. OF Prometheus, how undaunted Beautiful is the tradition Of that flight through heavenly portals, The old classic superstition Of the theft and the transmission First the deed of noble daring, Born of heavenward aspiration, Then the fire with mortals sharing, Then the vulture, the despairing Cry of pain on crags Caucasian. All is but a symbol painted Of the Poet, Prophet, Seer; In their feverish exultations, In their triumph and their yearning, In their passionate pulsations, Shall it, then, be unavailing, All this toil for human culture? O'er life's barren crags the vulture? Such a fate as this was Dante's, By defeat and exile maddened; But the glories so transcendent That around their memories cluster, All the melodies mysterious, Through the dreary darkness chaunted; Thoughts in attitudes imperious, Voices soft, and deep, and serious, Words that whispered, songs that haunted! All the soul in rapt suspension, Ah, Prometheus! heaven-scaling! Though to all there is not given And to leaven with fiery leaven Yet all bards, whose hearts unblighted THE LADDER OF ST. AUGUSTINE. SAINT AUGUSTINE! well hast thou said, Beneath our feet each deed of shame! All common things, each day's events, Are rounds by which we may ascend. The low desire, the base design, And all occasions of excess; The longing for ignoble things; The strife for triumph more than truth; The hardening of the heart, that brings Irreverence for the dreams of youth; All thoughts of ill; all evil deeds, The action of the nobler will; |